


Through the Narrow Aisles of Pain

by saavik13



Category: The Librarians (TV 2014)
Genre: Demisexuality, F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-01-01
Updated: 2018-01-12
Packaged: 2019-02-26 00:38:53
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 5,529
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13224555
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/saavik13/pseuds/saavik13
Summary: Purity of Soul was only for the young, and the foolish.Only one of them did he think could stand such tests, and she had already shown her darkness.  Betrayal and desperation and fear lived in her, and she had overcome each.  Purity, after all, was not the absence of any one thing but the ability to walk through darkness and not let it cling to your being.





	1. Chapter 1

It was easier when he was the Grail Knight. Everyone expected he’d be rather prudish, not inclined to excess. The idea of the Grail Knight being ‘pure’ was cemented in their consciousness and that was just fine by him. Purity, as far as magic was concerned, had more to do with intent and character than virginity in most cases, and the Seige Perilous had judged him on his soul as Merlin had intended, not on his lack of sexual congress. But the idea that he was pure, and must remain so for the Grail, had kept the others from hounding him on the matter. Kept him from being invited or pressured into any of their wild behaviors with the hangers on to court, paid or otherwise. Merlin let them believe as they will, amused if anything, and Galahad had been grateful for the deception. 

It was much easier than explaining he just wasn’t interested, was in fact slightly repulsed by the idea. 

It wasn’t until much later, after the Grail, and after his immortality had been laid upon him, that there was the first and only stirring of such interest. The lady was light itself, a creature so perfect and radiant that her brilliance shown like the sun and he’d loved her with every fiber of his being from the outset. But the idea that he’d like to lay with her, that he would in fact enjoy such a thing, was slow in coming and only after centuries of acquaintance had he realized it. But she had never seen him in such a light, had never returned his affection as any more than a friend and barely that. They had eventually worked together, grown to trust and appreciate the skill of the other, but her eye had always been on others, and her heart was claimed by men that he often questioned the greatness of. For she loved often, and deep, but never individually. No one man was enough to compete with her in any way, and while the idea of sharing her hurt, he would have – gladly – had she but once entertained his suit. But she never did, never returned his affections, and he was forced to watch her take one lover after another and another, sometimes two or three at once.

He thought no less of her for her ability to so easily physically love where he could not. She was such that containing her was impossible, a crime to attempt. It was only that he longed so to be included in that circle. And when she did, for a time, settle with only one man it was even worse and he could not bear to witness it any longer. 

He had not lied when he’d said he’d spent the 1500’s away from the library. For she had been at the library, and by avoiding one he’d avoided both. 

When her lover died, he’d hoped, for a brief and heartbreaking moment she’d consider him. She had instead turned to the only other immortal within her sphere. And while he could not spend the rest of eternity avoiding the library, he did the best he could and went where he would not have to watch.

Love from afar was a bitter thing, but bitterness was still more tolerable than constant stabbing pain, so he suffered alone in the darkness and dust of the annex, waiting for perhaps the end of everything.

But the end when it came was not what he was expecting. The Library, ripped from its anchor, and her, lost to a place he could not follow and could do nothing to prevent.

And then the new round table, for he could not think of it as anything else, especially not when they actually brought forth a Round Table, into his annex, into his soul. There was no Seige Perlious this time, not for any of them, and he was grateful. For now the only purity he had left was the one that would not matter, and he did not have the strength to sit a second test. He was sure he would not pass its judgement now, after all the time that had past, all the bloodshed and pain and regret.

Purity of Soul was only for the young, and the foolish.

Only one of them did he think could stand such tests, and she had already shown her darkness. Betrayal and desperation and fear lived in her, and she had overcome each. Purity, after all, was not the absence of any one thing but the ability to walk through darkness and not let it cling to your being. 

It took centuries for him to fall in love with his lady. It took hours to care for this new charge. Care, but not love, and so when she came to him, when she sought his company with the light of expectation in her eyes, a light he’d grown to dread over his long life, he’d hurt her with his denial even though he’d intended no such thing. 

To almost lose her within hours of that unintended slight made him feel a fool. What would it have harmed him, to give her a few hours of his attentions? If she’d desired that which he had little interest in, could he not have humored her in some way? What was wrong with him that he would deny a dying woman, a dying woman who he very much cared for, a small respite? His lady love, who had never even looked his way once in all their long lives, even if she _had_ returned his love, she would not have cared if he had given his attentions to another. For she had no such restraint in her own being – in fact she would have told him in no uncertain terms to do the poor woman a service.

And, given Cassandra’s character, it was likely she only wished his company more so than his bed. For while he had seen the others dalliance frequently, or at least occasionally, in the two years they had been within his annex, he had never seen her turn her eye, let alone her person, to another carnally. She’d shown no interest, as such, that he could recall either, in fact or in story. He’d thought, for a fleeting moment or two, that she might be as he was. For he had found others, that like him had little interest, although such were not terribly common in any time, and almost unheard of in this fast and decadent era.

But he’d recognized in her eyes a spark of that interest, if not the rabid need for it, and he’d been frightened, and rash with his tongue and now…. Now she was so pale against the hospital sheets, her lovely hair gone, her wounds bound up, the bandages hidden beneath the simple barrier of cloth as if the fabric could somehow hide the barbarous nature of what she had undergone. They had broken open her skull! As much as he understood the medical necessity, and that such was the magic of these modern physicians that they could do such harm in the course of their healing and the patient come out the better for it, his very soul twisted in agony at the thought. Countless men had he seen ripped open on the battlefield, skulls smashed, their deaths instant for the lucky, gurgling painfully drawn out minutes for the rest. 

He wanted to hold her hand.

It was exceedingly rare for him to ever desire closeness of any sort, even such a platonic thing as that, and the feeling was foreign and painful as he looked down on her. They’d said it would be hours until she awoke, and he’d sent the rest back to their beds to rest and find fresh clothing. He would stand guard he’d said, and while normally Stone at least would have questioned him, his performance had at least put to bed the idea that he was defenseless. He had already killed to get to her once this day – he would do so again without hesitation if the need arose.

She’d be in this place for five days at least they said, before they would release her to something called a rehab physicality. A place caught between the hospital and the home, as he understood it, a place for healing and recuperation which, he supposed, was better than this place which lingered with the feeling of death and desperation. Part of him wanted nothing more than to bundle her up as she was, spirit her away to the place he knew she felt most at home, to place her carefully upon the bed she’d carved out in the corner of the library, and ply her with every healing draught he had learned in all his travels. 

But there was no healing drought he could mix that would have cured her, and while he could in theory speed her recovery, he did not wish to endanger it by mixing his magic with the science of these physicians. Cassandra at the least understood that much of what he did was magic, if a contained sort, and they’d spent many hours in his workshop discussing the particularities of this or that brew. She’d called him a potion master, after one of the farcical tales from her childhood, and he’d let her see a rare smile. The books, when she left them for him, wove such a tragic tale of that potion master that he’d wept at one point, in the silence of his chambers, and when he’d returned them to her she’d whispered in a sad voice that she thought that man the hero of the adventure, and his dead love to be a cruel sort of woman.

Being something of an expert on unrequited love, he couldn’t help but agree.

While there was little he could do to cure her, and little he could do to speed the healing while she was still in their care, in five days he _would_ be able to do those things, for it was disturbingly easy to convince the hospital that he had made arrangements for a ‘rehab’ physicality of top quality. When she was past immediate danger from her surgery, they would release her into his care, believing he was transporting her to another physicality and he could then take her to the library. Within hours he could seal her wounds and within days return the color to her cheeks, and even her long hair. That at least was within his abilities.

 

But for now, all he could do was sit by her side, and guard her rest, so that is what he would do.


	2. Chapter 2

“Jenkins?” her tired, tiny voice filtered to him across the space between the desk he had moved into her sick room and her bed. It had only been a few hours since they’d arrived after her release from the hospital and it had been a harrowing journey. He had to place the door some distance from the hospital, to make her leaving more realistic, and every jostle of the rented vehicle had caused her pain. She’d been so weak, clutching to his arm, and he’d longed to simply carry her the few feet from the car into the building and through the door, as he had done when she’d first fallen ill, but her stubbornness had warned him away before he’d done more than bend slightly in anticipation. She’d wanted to retire to her own room, an understandable request, but it was tiny, a mere closet of a space, and she could not be alone at such a delicate turn in her recovery, especially if he was to be aiding in it, so a compromise had been reached. By the time he’d helped her to her sick room she’d barley managed to crawl into bed before sleep had taken her once more.

The room he’d set up for her was next to his own, a larger space, but not cavernous – an empty room within the annex rather than the library proper. As such it had a rare treat, a real window, that looked out on the forest opposite their bridge. It was small, and set at an odd height, but a perfect one from the large four poster he’d managed to locate for her. He’d hesitated on the bed curtains, unsure which of her fictional houses she’d have wished to be in. She was loyal beyond question. And her bravery was unmatched by any of them. Her intellect was astonishing, even for a librarian. But it was her cunning that most impressed him, so he chose a deep rich velvet in emerald green, using the five days of her forced convalescence in the hospital to burn into it scenes of forest creatures and ivy so that when the light shown through the window upon them the creatures would fairly glow through the fabric and give her something upon which to gaze from her pillows. The linens he kept simple and white, as the ones in her own room were, but the coverlet he found for her was a soft down, ticked in cream, over which he laid a tea died lace. He found a good thick rug for the stone of the floor, and a painting or two from the non-dangerous collection brightened the walls a fair bit. His desk he’d moved to the far corner of the room, where he could discretely keep watch over her, but when her curtains were drawn as they were she would have some semblance of privacy. The library had provided a fireplace of all things that seemed to keep the room a comfortable temperature and which provided a quiet sort of peace he knew he found lacking in much of the residences he’d entered in the last few years.

“Coming,” he called, setting down the journal he was transcribing, and moved over to her, parting the curtains to smile at her, propped up against the mountain of pillows behind her. “How are you feeling?”

“Spoiled.” She admitted, fingering the lace of her coverlet with a somewhat guilty expression. “You really didn’t need to go to this trouble, Jenkins. I could have gone to the rehab facility.”

“Nonsense.” He huffed, and turned to the small table next to the bed. “If you feel up to a little meal, I have something here that will speed your recovery.”

“Really, you don’t need to…” she trailed off, a grimace of pain twisting her face. “I’m sorry I’m not better company.”

He shook his head. “You are fine company, as always.” He smiled gently and held out the bowl of broth, kept warm by a réchaut that normally resided in his workshop but that he’d repurposed for her convalescence. “I mixed a drought in with your broth, so it is imperative you finish it.”

She eyed the bowl with a long-suffering sigh. “You do realize there’s no proof at all that bone broth aids anyone’s recovery, and it’s not been particularly popular as a remedy for a century.”

“There’s no proof it doesn’t, and I can’t care less about its popularity. You have yet to hold down anything more solid.” He reminded her. She raised her hands, to take the bowl but they quivered slightly and rather than hand it over he gently held it to her lips. It took her longer than either of them would have liked for her to finish the bowl, but finish it she did and he set it aside before moving to fix the blankets that had twisted in her sleep. “Is there anything I can get you?”

“When did you do all this?” She asked, rather than answer, and gestured to the room. “Jenkins this is like a little fairy-tale nest. I don’t even recognize the room. It’s near yours, though isn’t it?”

“Next door. I had been keeping a fairly large statue of the last dragon lord here, but the library and I felt that it would be best if it migrated to storage.” He smiled. “I thought given your love of the Potter books you might enjoy this old bed. The library apparently thought it needed the fireplace – it’s a joint effort really.”

“I’m not entirely sure I want to move out.” She admitted, her cheeks coloring a little too brightly pink, showing how unwell she still was. “But I do need to know where the bathroom is.”

“Directly across the hall.” She moved to get out of the bed and he quickly stepped in to help steady her as she found her feet.

“I can walk, Jenkins.” She protested weakly.

“Let me at least help you to the door. It wouldn’t do to have you faint within hours of getting released.” He smiled softly, and lead her over to the bathroom with small careful steps. He waited for her outside and, when she looked ready to collapse, he lifted her into his arms and carried her back to her bed. It said more of her condition than anything else when she did not protest.

It took three days before his potions worked enough to knit the bones of her head back together again, and seal the wounds enough to forgo the bandages. It took another week till she was strong enough he felt confident in leaving her alone. By that time he’d managed to return her hair to some vague idea of normal, although it only reached her ears. Still, she was pleased by this, having expected to have to wait months for it to grow back in.

As she grew stronger, and needed him less, Jenkins found he missed her more. Months after he still found himself hesitating outside her door, desiring nothing more than to knock and see her face, even if it was for nothing more than to sit by her fire with her, perhaps discuss a book from the library or an old case file she’d reviewed for her training – anything really just to spend time with her.

She too seemed to desire company, but not exclusively his. She was more alive in some way now that she felt she could be. She could make plans, find friends, no longer trying to protect them from her own expiration date. It was right and proper that she should go out into the world, to live as she never could. He wanted that for her.

He just wanted to be there to see it.

“Jenkins?” he started at the sound of her voice and looked up from his workbench to find her standing in the doorway, a small frown on her face. “What are you doing in here all by yourself? Everyone’s having a party for the New Year.”

“I wasn’t feeling particularly like celebrating another year.” He admitted, rubbing at his eyes and wondering why he hadn’t added more lighting. “I would just put everyone out of the mood.”

“Not me.” She bounced around to his side and peered over his shoulder. “Oh, is that the recipe we found in the temple? Do you think there’s something to it?”

“Unlikely, but I wanted to see if it was perhaps an earlier attempt at the Gregfledge Stabilizer we’ve been trying to synthesize for the communication amulets.” He pushed his notes towards her. “What do you think?”

Her forehead scrunched as she read through them. “It might be. It’s missing a few key ingredients but it looks like they’ve tried to compensate with regional variations? Are you thinking one of these might work to replace the Viola cryana?”

“That was my hope.” He answered, sighing. It was always tricky working with older formulas when so many flora and fauna had either gone extinct or changed their natures with man’s meddling. “But I’m not having a lot of luck.”

She eyed him carefully. “Have you been at this all day? Why don’t you take a break and then try again tomorrow with fresh eyes.”

“I suppose. But you should return to the party. I may just make some tea and sit by the fire.”

“I’ll join you. I’ve had enough of the party anyway.” She smiled and bounced slightly in place. “I have two armchairs and a nice large fireplace if you bring the tea.” She’d kept her new room, next to his, and often they would sit together if she was not busy with something else.

“Gladly.” He felt a jolt of joy at the prospect of time with her, without some pressing Library need. “I have some little cakes too, if you are interested.”

“Oh, little cakes, always interested.” She skipped out the door, her slightly shorter hair bouncing behind her and he smiled as he watched her go.

Later, as the hours turned and midnight neared Cassandra grew quieter. Eventually she set down her tea and her book and turned to him, the firelight flickering over her features. “We are friends, aren’t we, Jenkins?” she asked, softly, gently, as if she was frightened of the answer.

“Yes, of course we are.” He replied evenly, setting down his own reading. “Why?”

“I wasn’t sure after what happened, the day before my surgery.” She admitted, turning her face away so it rested half in shadow. “I know I was maybe a little forward, or misread you…”

“Neither, I just, I’m not…” He wasn’t sure how to tell her. “I just have little to no interest in the more common aspects of a romantic relationship.” He settled on finally. “And I thought that was your intent. I did not wish to mislead you.”

She turned back to him, her eyes searching his. “You mean you don’t mind this, the spending time together, but you don’t want _more_?”

He did want more. More of her. More of her time, more of her attention, more of holding her and protecting her and simply being with her. Just not particularly anything that would involve nudity.

“There was a reason I was the Grail Knight.” He spoke softly, looking into the fire. “Purity of spirit was a requirement, but purity of the flesh was… expected. I found it easier to dissuade the ladies and the gentleman of court with that excuse without hurting anyone’s feelings. Now I have no ready pretext, and I swear I never meant to hurt you, Cassandra. I enjoy your company a great deal. I would gladly spend my every spare moment by your side. I just, I just have very little desire for anything else such a relationship would entail and I had no desire to lead you on.”

“So it’s not that you aren’t interested in me, you just aren’t interested at all.” She didn’t sound upset, he noticed, just surprised. “But you… at least one person right?”

“It took centuries of friendship for it to develop into that. And it was never returned.” He admitted, unable to look at her as he confessed. “And while I care for you much more than is probably proper, I do not… I can’t say that I have…”

“Oh you’re demisexual.” Cassandra reached for his hand and squeezed it. “That makes perfect sense. And being immortal it probably takes you ages and ages to feel close enough to someone to actually feel desire for them.” She moved so she was right in his line of sight. “I understand, Jenkins, I do. I’m demi too, it just, well, I don’t take centuries.” She shrugged. “But you know, I don’t really need that. I don’t really miss it. Frankly I don’t understand what all the hype is about. I’m happy just spending time with you. We don’t ever need to do _more_. You’re just the first person I ever thought I might be willing to _try_ with.” She frowned slightly. “It still sounds kinda messy and not particularly exciting, not like finding a new spell.”

He laughed, he couldn’t help it. And she smiled at him. “So is it okay now? Are we okay?” She asked.

“Yes, we are.” He agreed, smiling down at her as she knelled next to his chair. “I don’t believe anyone has ever understood that before.”

She bit her lip slightly. “Do you, do you mind when I touch you? Like this, hold your hand?”

He shook his head. “No, that’s alright, with you.” He reached down and tugged on her gently till she stood and then pulled her over to sit on his leg so he could hold her. “I don’t mind this either. I just…”

She rested her head on his shoulder. “No naked bits or sweaty bits.” She hummed slightly and relaxed into him. “I like this. Can we do this more? The touching without expectations? I’m not used to people not expecting things.” She smiled brightly. “It’s relaxing.”

“I suppose we can do this as much as you like.” It was relaxing, he admitted to himself. “I like knowing you are near.”

“I scared you, didn’t I?”

“You scared all of us.”

Her tiny hand wound its way into his necktie. “Jake told me what you did, how you got me to the hospital. He said he’d never seen you so scared.”

“It’s been some time since I was.” He reached up to weave his fingers into her hair, feeling the slight scar that remained even after his careful healing droughts. “I do not like the thought of you leaving.”

“I’m glad I don’t have to for a while.” She sighed softly, her breath ghosting over his neck slightly before she yawned. He drew away to look at her and she blushed. “I haven’t slept well since you stopped watching over me. I got use to you being there I suppose.”

“You should have said something. I can stay until you fall asleep.” He stood up and she made a little startled yelp at the sudden movement and then laughed as he carried her to her bed and set her down on it gently.

“Very gallant.” She advised with a smile. “But I’m not going to ask you to sit up in a chair half the night.” Her smile broke and she bit her lip. “How do you feel about platonic cuddling?”

“Can’t say I’ve tried it.” He wasn’t sure what she was getting at until she patted the bed next to her.

“Just to sleep, Jenkins. Hugging horizontal.”

“With no naked bits?” He asked, teasingly, and she nodded, her eyes light and happy. “I suppose we could attempt it.”

They split apart for the time it took them both to change into night clothes and when he returned she was propped up against the headboard, a book open on her lap. As he slid in next to her, his own book in hand, she smiled and shook her head.

“What is it?”

“It’s a minute till midnight.” She nodded towards the clock on her mantle. “You know whatever you are doing at midnight they say you’ll be doing for the rest of the year.”

“Reading in bed with a friend?” He questioned, opening his book up to where he’d left off. “That sounds perfect.”

“It does.” She agreed, turning back to her own reading. “Simply fantastic.”

And, it surprised him to realize she meant it.


	3. Chapter 3

“I lost the draw.” Stone growled as he burst into Jenkin’s workshop and leaned heavily against the worktop. “So I’m here to give you the shovel talk.”

Jenkins raised an eyebrow. “What pray tell is that?”

“The talk where I threaten to kill you and hide the body out back if you hurt a hair on Cassandra’s head.” Stone frowned. “Exactly how I’d do that is a bit of a mystery, but I’m pretty sure with a collection of librarians and one pissed off Guardian we’d figure it out.”

“I assure you I have no intention of hurting Cassandra.” He paused and put the book he’d been consulting back on the shelf behind him. “Or her hair. I like her hair.” He pulled a different tome off the shelf and started to leaf through it looking for a half-remembered reference.

“You _like_ her, that’s the problem.” Stone advised, moving around the workspace to block the caretaker in. “Jones saw you leaving her room this morning.”

“Ah.” Jenkins nodded. “So naturally he believed we were having some sort of torrid affair and you’ve been sent to defend her virtue?”

“Hell no.” Stone denied, actually smiling slightly at that. “Cassy can take care of her own virtue. But we’re the closest things she’s got to brothers and its sort of part of the package, threatening the boyfriends.” He got a rather funny look on his face. “I’m not sure if I should be congratulating you on pulling that or slugging you for daring to go there.”

“I assure you, Miss Cillian and I are not having sexual relations. Her virtue is safe where I am concerned.” He found the passage he needed and propped the book up on the stand and moved past Stone to get to the bottle of purified sea water he needed. “Now, I’m rather busy at the moment so if you don’t have anything actually relevant to say, can you please get out of my way?”

Stone’s eyes narrowed. “If you aren’t sleeping with her what were you doing in her room? She isn’t having a relapse, is she?”

The worry in his tone was enough to pry Jenkins from his experiment. He put down the bottle and the beaker he retrieved and gave the librarian his full attention. “Cassandra is fully recovered. And while it is none of your business, we have been sleeping together. Just sleeping, Mr. Stone. We both enjoy the company and, as hard for you as I’m sure it is to understand, neither of us gets much human contact in a normal given day. It is…nice, to be near another living being. But it is entirely non-sexual.”

“Oh.” The librarian deflated. “That’s...” he scratched his head. “That’s actually a little sad, man. I mean, god, are you both that lonely?”

“Not anymore.” Cassandra swept into the room and gave a hug to Jenkins before turning to glare at Stone. “Now leave him alone, alright. I’m perfectly capable of taking care of myself and if there was a single person on the planet that did not need a shovel talk it’s this man. Shoo.” She motioned him away and Stone went, with a backward curious glance at the two of them.

“I’m sorry.” She breathed out in a rush as soon as the other man disappeared around the corner. “I caught Ezekiel talking to Eve about sending Jake in here and I came as fast as I could. Honestly, they act like I’m some fair maiden getting carted off by a randy stranger.”

“It’s sweet they care.” Jenkins tried to hide his trepidation at the situation. “If it was anyone but myself I’m sure I would have delivered that same speech.”

She bumped into his shoulder playfully. “But it’s you, and it’s me, and they could have just talked to us if they were that curious.”

“I suppose I’ll have to get use to it.” He sighed and bent to light the burner, placing the beaker on the stand once he had the flame adjusted.

“What?” she asked, moving to pull out the notebook she was keeping on their experiments.

“The teasing. I’m certain I will not hear the end of this for some time to come.” 

She slammed the notebook down. “If they say one offensive word to you, Jenkins, I’ll…. I’m not sure what I’ll do but it will be nasty.” She nodded and narrowed her eyes. “Nasty and probably illegal. I think I saw something in a book…”

He laughed and shook his head. “I can defend myself, Cassandra.”

“I know.” She gentled her expression. “But I quite enjoy taking care of you as much as you enjoy taking care of me.” She bit her lip, hesitating before she spoke again. “You know, just because we don’t have sex doesn’t mean I’m not in love with you. It’s not just sleeping, it’s…it’s _being with you_. It’s romantical or something. For me. And if, someday, you want to explore more, than okay. It’s okay if you never do. But I don’t sleep with just anybody, Jenkins.” She looked away. “You’re actually the only one.”

“Cassandra,” he moved around the worktable to pull her into a hug, resting his chin on her head. “I’m sorry if my renitence has in any way hurt you.”

“It hasn’t.” she breathed in his scent and clung tighter. “But I don’t want to pretend that there’s nothing more than friendship here because there is, isn’t there? _Something_ more is between us than between you and…and Eve, right?” An unspoken ‘I’m special, aren’t I?’ hung between them.

 

“You are everything.” He whispered into her flaming hair. “I’d never even consider what we have with any of the others.”

“Good.” Her tiny fingers curled into his jacket. “So, when we are done cuddling I’m going to go beat two boys silly.”

“Take pictures.” He advised and smiled at her soft chuckle.

**Author's Note:**

> Solitude  
> By Ella Wheeler Wilcox, 1883
> 
> Laugh, and the world laughs with you;  
> Weep, and you weep alone;  
> For the sad old earth must borrow its mirth,  
> But has trouble enough of its own.  
> Sing, and the hills will answer;  
> Sigh, it is lost on the air;  
> The echoes bound to a joyful sound,  
> But shrink from voicing care.
> 
> Rejoice, and men will seek you;  
> Grieve, and they turn and go;  
> They want full measure of all your pleasure,  
> But they do not need your woe.  
> Be glad, and your friends are many;  
> Be sad, and you lose them all,—  
> There are none to decline your nectared wine,  
> But alone you must drink life’s gall.
> 
> Feast, and your halls are crowded;  
> Fast, and the world goes by.  
> Succeed and give, and it helps you live,  
> But no man can help you die.  
> There is room in the halls of pleasure  
> For a large and lordly train,  
> But one by one we must all file on  
> Through the narrow aisles of pain.


End file.
